Page 110 of The Butterfly Killer

“This won’t change anything.”

Roman sighed. “Oh but it has, Marcus.”

Marcus let his arms fall. He wasn’t going to receive a hug back. He let Roman leave his arms because he knew there wasn’t anything he could do besides killing Roman to stop him.

Roman would have his revenge for both of them.

Marcus stepped back. He found the chair Roman had been tied to just seconds ago. He sat as he watched Roman creep closer and closer to Miguel.

The screams didn’t start until Roman straddled Miguel and sliced the man’s shirt off with the knife he’d used to stab Roman in both legs. Roman wasn’t careful. He cut Miguel’s skin too. When the shirt was off, he shot Miguel in the other shoulder.

His arms were rendered useless. They seized on the ground beside his laying form. He kicked with his good leg, but Marcus could see how pain rippled up his bad one each time he did. And each time he tried to fight, more and more of his energy was taken.

Roman cut and stabbed with precision. He’d planned this. If it wasn’t planned, he knew exactly where to stab and where to cut without second guessing himself.

The butterflies in the cabin, pinned in shadow boxes with the other array of insects came to mind. Roman used his skill to pin Miguel like all those other insects he’d practiced on.

Marcus didn’t have to force himself to watch. He needed this. It was the closure and it was also the proof that Miguel wasn’t going to be leaving this pool house.

The Butterfly Killer stopped existing here and now.

The body wasn’t recognizable anymore. Roman had carved it into the perfect piece to become his epilogue. The chest cavity was open wide so the corpse’s heart was on full display—Marcus had thought he saw it beat one more time before it stopped entirely.

But that must have been the trick of his eyes.

Speaking of eyes, Roman had removed those. The body was left without them and its tongue had been taken as well. Roman had stuffed them down into the throat.

Covered in blood, Roman sagged against the kitchen island. He panted, face covered in sweat. He’d pushed himself.

Marcus got up. He didn’t let Roman wiggle out of his grip. He wasn’t strong enough to. He gave in and let Marcus lead him to the bedroom. Marcus laid him down on the made bed. The creme sheets were going to be stained with blood, but Marcus would worry about that later when Roman wasn’t on the verge of death.

The panic started to seep in. When Roman had taken care of Miguel, he’d been numb, watching as if he wasn’t the cop who’d been after justice. This was wrong—all the choices he’d made were wrong—but he didn’t know how Miguel getting what he deserved could be anything but right.

He left Roman on the bed and went to the joining bathroom. The bright lights blinded him for a second when he flipped the switch on. He grabbed the hand towel hanging on the metal ring next to the sink. He turned the water on and shoved the bright white towel underneath.

Blood ran down the drain, swirling for a moment until the water ran clear again. Marcus stared at the color, confused where it had come from, but then realizing that his arms were covered in blood. Roman’s blood. Because Roman was bleeding. A lot.

He looked up, his eyes meeting his own in the mirror. He knew he was panicking, but he didn’t know he was breaking down on the inside until he saw his eyes that were so wide they looked like they were going to pop out of his head.

The cold water turned scorching hot. Marcus jumped back with a yelp.

He fumbled to turn the knob so it was actually on the cold water. It soothed his slight burn and soaked the hand towel. He wrung it out and turned the faucet off. Stepping out of the bathroom, he listened closely for any of Miguel’s men coming back.

Roman held the gun and though it made sense for Marcus to take it, he didn’t want to.

Marcus was careful as he leaned over the bed.

“Let me see it.”

Roman thankfully didn’t fight him on it. He lifted his shirt where the knife had gotten him one last time before Marcus had gotten free. The wounds in his thighs were one thing. There weren’t any vital organs there and a couple tourniquets might be enough to save his legs.

This however…Marcus wasn’t a doctor. He’d been trained well enough to know what to do until the medics arrived to a scene, but other than that…

Shut up. Just focus on helping him and not thinking about what you can’t do.

Marcus listened to the voice in his head for once. He applied pressure to the cut in Roman’s abdomen.

“Put your hand on it,” Marcus said, but Roman was already on it.

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